


home sweet home

by PitViperOfDoom



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Animal Transformation, Fae & Fairies, Half-Vampires, M/M, Monster Hunters, Pre-Relationship, TMA Fantasy Week (The Magnus Archives), Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 06:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30001023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitViperOfDoom/pseuds/PitViperOfDoom
Summary: It's raining the day Martin moves into his new flat, which leaves him with wet socks, wet groceries, and wet animals on his doorstep. To make matters worse, he's now living smack in the middle of a magical hotspot, which means eclectic weather and hunters on the prowl.At least his new neighbors are cute.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 17
Kudos: 212





	home sweet home

**Author's Note:**

> If I had a nickel for every time I came up with a Jongerrymartin AU involving animal transformation, I would have two nickels.

It was lucky that Martin didn’t have much to his name when he moved, because he had barely gotten all his boxes through the door before it started raining.

“Started raining” had such a gentle feel to it, though. And the torrential downpour that the sky unleashed—the second his last box was inside, no less—was anything but gentle. The door swung shut behind him, but before long Martin could hear the heavy rush of dumping rain. If he stood out there for all of two seconds, he’d be soaked.

He really shouldn’t have been surprised; Tim had warned him about the eclectic weather before he made the move. But after the debacle with his last apartment, Martin had been so desperate for a cheap flat he could move into right away that he hadn’t really cared about _where_ he was moving.

And the weather had been the least of Tim’s warnings.

With a sigh, Martin turned away from the door and into the building proper, and already began to feel better. It was warmer here, more welcoming, especially after the incident with Jane had thoroughly put off his last building. Worms with teeth tended to do that to even the boldest of structures. Hopefully this one would be spared that particular ordeal.

Mercifully, his new flat was on the ground floor. Martin wiped his feet carefully before stepping off of the doormat, and was rewarded when his shoes didn’t leave a single speck of extra dirt. The building, appreciative of the gesture, agreed to watch his things through the multiple trips it took for him to carry it all into his new home.

It wasn’t until his fifth trip to the lobby that he finally spotted another tenant. Martin had just stepped out of his flat to retrieve another box when he glanced over and saw another man loitering at the next door over. It was hard to miss him when he was fidgeting so awfully, just shy of outright pacing. In one hand he twirled an unlit cigarette. In the other, he flicked a lighter on and off as if he couldn’t decide whether or not he actually wanted to smoke.

“Is everything alright?” Martin asked, eyeing the lighter nervously. The building didn’t think very highly of that particular vice, and Martin had never encountered one that did.

The man startled, then looked irritated with himself for it. “Fine,” he said tersely. “Have you seen anyone else around?”

“Not since I got here,” Martin replied. “Why?”

For a little while Martin was sure that the stranger was going to light the cigarette and refuse to answer, but neither of them came to pass. With an irate huff, the man shut the lighter and shoved it back into his pocket. The lit cigarette was dropped on the rug, before the man apparently thought better of it and retrieved it.

“My boyfriend’s been out for a while,” the man replied eventually, shoving the cigarette in with the lighter. “He’s not answering his texts. And I don’t like the sound of this rain.”

“Well, he could be held up,” Martin said, taking pity on him. “Bad weather plays merry hell on transit. And this is about the worst weather I’ve ever seen.”

The man grunted with clear disinterest. Martin could kick himself; here he was, standing around discussing the weather, of all things. Ridiculous. What was he, ninety years old?

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Martin said, and escaped to the lobby to grab the rest of his boxes.

The flat was sparsely furnished. No, scratch that, it was empty except for his boxes, the one bed that Tim and his brother had helped him set up, and a folding table and chair that were technically on loan but Martin knew Tim didn’t expect them back anytime soon. He had a few more odd bits of furniture bought for cheap from various acquaintances, but they weren’t here yet.

Still, he did his best with what he did have. Sheets and blankets on the bed, clothes in the wardrobe—he’d need hangers as well—toiletries in the bathroom, and cookware and what few spices and non-perishables he had in the kitchen. His new flat looked on with approval until the mess was cleared away, leaving a stack of empty cardboard boxes by the door. It did not take very long.

He considered ordering in, since he didn’t have nearly enough food to put together dinner himself, but the thought of making someone else run through that miserable rain was enough to make him miserable as well. A second look in his new kitchen cupboard turned up a packet of instant mashed potatoes. That would do; he wasn’t all that hungry anyway.

He was halfway through a bowl of garlic-flavored mush and a cup of tea when something hit the living room window with a dull thud. Martin jumped, nearly knocking over his mug. Had it started to hail? That was just what he needed at this point.

But no more sounds of impact followed. And hail usually sounded more like cracking. Whatever this was, it was too soft to be hail.

Might have been a bird, Martin realized as he rose from his chair. He squinted out the window, but it was dark outside and the rain covering the window made it blurry. Bracing himself, he unlatched the window and cracked it open.

“Oh damn it,” he muttered, spotting the dark shape huddled on the ledge. “You had better not be dead.”

It wasn’t a bird at all, he realized as he gently picked it up. It was a bat, of all things. Thankfully it was also an alive bat, since it stirred as Martin brought it inside and shut the window, but it was soaked to the skin and apparently not in the mind to put up a fight. Hopefully it was just dazed.

“A bat,” he muttered to himself as he hunted about for the towels he’d put in the hall cupboard. “Didn’t even know there were bats in the area.” The bat gave no indication that it was listening, but it also didn’t try to bite him, which he appreciated. “Guess it makes sense, though. Tim said this place was a hotbed for magic. Who knows, maybe you’re someone’s familiar.”

By the time he’d gently pat-dried the animal and gotten it as comfortable in one of the empty boxes as he could, his impromptu house guest was watching him with bright, wide-open eyes. Martin did a quick google search of what bats ate, before realizing how useless that was when he didn’t know what kind of bat it was. Would it eat insects? Fruit?

In the end, he filled his smallest bowl with water and offered it, but the bat simply sniffed at it before curling back into its towel nest.

“Makes sense,” Martin murmured. “You’ve probably had your fill of water for the night, haven’t you. Don’t worry, I’ll let you out when the rain lets up.”

As if in open defiance, the storm raged on outside, until Martin could no longer stay awake. With a sigh, and a whispered apology to the animal, he placed the bowl of water in the box and put the lid on, with a couple of books to weigh it down. Hopefully the rain would ease up overnight and he could release it in the morning.

* * *

Martin woke up to rain beating against his bedroom window, and sighed on instinct before he remembered why the rain was bad news. It didn’t seem to have lightened at all; he might have to risk releasing the bat anyway, or find someone to call. There had to be a wildlife rehab or something in the area, considering the abundance of surrounding forest.

The box was exactly as he’d left it, books on the lid and all. When he opened it, the bat was nestled in the next of towels, motionless except for the rise and fall of its breathing. Poor thing must have been exhausted. It was also technically morning, and bats were supposed to be nocturnal, so it made sense for it to be asleep. Unless it had gotten sick… could bats get sick in the rain?

Before he could consider it further, his stomach growled. The mashed potatoes hadn’t exactly been filling, and he didn’t have anything to make a good breakfast out of. He’d have to go shopping, rain or no rain. When he got back, he could look up resources in the area, see what he could do about a possibly-injured-or-sick bat in his house.

“Please behave yourself,” he muttered to the sleeping animal as he threw on his most waterproof coat.

He opened his door and stepped out into the hall, and was nearly bowled over by his next door neighbor—which was impressive, considering how much height Martin had on him. The other man barely seemed to register his presence; his phone was to his ear, and everything about him screamed agitation. With a muffled curse, he hung up and shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket.

“Are you alright?” Martin asked.

“ _No,_ ” his neighbor snapped.

“Oh.” Memories of their previous encounter trickled back in, and Martin’s heart sank with sympathy. “Your boyfriend…?”

“Didn’t come in all night,” was the terse reply. “I really don’t have time to talk.”

The other man was at the exterior door by the time Martin caught up with him. “Um—do you need help? Is there someone I should call, or—”

“No,” his neighbor said bluntly, and rushed off into the pouring rain before Martin could get another word out.

Martin watched him go, stomach fluttering with sympathetic worry. But in the end, there wasn’t anything he could do, so he focused on his own phone, found directions to the nearest shop, and trudged out into the rain himself.

The shop he found was small, and looked independently owned, but it had the array of groceries he was looking for and the prices weren’t too bad.

What was odd was that it was nearly deserted.

Martin was halfway through the dairy aisle when he realized that he hadn’t seen anyone at the register. But the lights were on and the doors unlocked, and there hadn’t been a closed sign. And the building didn’t _feel_ closed. It would have let him know if it was. It wouldn’t have stopped him, but it at least would have politely informed him of the fact.

It was an enormous relief when he did run into someone else. Turning into one of the freezer sections, he found a woman glaring through one of the glass doors, either from indecision or a general dislike of frozen pizzas.

She looked up when he awkwardly opened another to select some bags of frozen vegetables, and her frown deepened into a proper scowl. “Haven’t seen you before,” she said bluntly.

“Oh, well, I just moved, actually,” Martin replied, shutting the door again. “Um. Hi?”

The woman’s scowl had softened, but her eyes were still narrowed. “You’re not human,” she observed.

Martin’s stomach flipped. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re not human,” she repeated. It wasn’t a question.

Martin stepped away, breathing carefully through the sinking feeling in his chest. “If—I mean. W-would that be a problem?”

She shrugged and turned away again. “Not with me. But there are hunters in town. You might want to be careful.”

“Oh.” Martin sighed with relief. “I mean—thank you, for the warning. I think. But you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not the sort of thing hunters really go after.”

The woman didn’t look at him again as she yanked the door open and grabbed a box off the shelf. “Still. You’d better get home.”

“Right. Um, thanks.”

By the time he got back to his building, he’d been gone for well over an hour, and he was quite thoroughly soaked. What little waterproofing his coat offered had was no match for the force of the rain, and every part of him felt heavier.

There was an old man standing just outside the exterior door.

Martin’s first thought was that someone in his building had forgotten their keys, but a second look made him doubt that. The man was watching his surroundings, eyes sharp as they scanned the street and sky.

The prickling on the back of his neck told him it was danger, but he forced himself to appear relaxed. Something told him that it would be very, very dangerous to let this man know that he was unsettled.

So Martin did his best to ignore him, fumbling for his key and letting himself in, but no sooner had he gotten the door open than the man shouldered by him and pushed his way in. Martin was barely inside, but he could still feel the building protest at the intrusion. Whoever this man was, he didn’t belong.

“Hey—” He bit the protest off quickly, heart leaping to his throat.

“Don’t mind me,” the man said. “Just visiting a friend.”

“O-oh,” said Martin. He stood frozen in the open doorway, uncertain as to what he should do. He might get in trouble with the building manager if he let someone in who didn’t belong.

“Maybe you know him?” the man asked. “Tall. Pale. Tattoos and funny teeth.”

“Sorry, I just moved in,” Martin replied. “Haven’t gotten a chance to meet the neighbors.”

The man’s lip curled slightly as if he suspected Martin of lying. “Shame.”

Before Martin could reply, a blur of motion below startled him. A small, dark shape shot between his feet and came to halt just barely out from under the rain. It froze where it was, wet fur brushing against Martin’s already soaked ankle. Once it had stopped moving, Martin easily identified it as an absolutely drenched gray cat.

In an instant the man’s eyes were on the animal, and for a wild moment Martin thought he was about to lunge. Instinctively he bent down and scooped the dripping thing into his arms. “There you are!” he pretended to scold. “Been looking for you—that’ll teach you to run off in the rain.” The cat endured the handling as docilely as Martin had ever seen a cat do anything. Poor thing was shivering.

“That your cat?” the man asked sharply.

Martin drew back. “Yes,” he lied. “What of it?”

For a moment the man simply stared balefully at him, fingers twitching at his sides. “Nothing,” he said at last, turning away. “Keep a closer eye on your animals.”

“Will do,” Martin muttered, but the man was already leaving. Martin’s heart went out to anyone else unlucky enough to cross paths with him.

Once he was gone, the cat wriggled furiously until Martin was forced to set it down or risk hurting it. It shook itself off, scattering droplets of rainwater on the lobby floor.

Martin sighed. “What is it with all the wet animals around here? Why me?”

The cat ignored him, until Martin stooped and offered it a hand to sniff. “Wonder who that guy was,” he muttered. “I met someone who warned me about hunters—God, I hope he wasn’t one. Just what I need.”

The cat, apparently losing interest in him, wandered off. Martin hoped he didn’t piss off his neighbors by letting in a stray. Of course, if he’d let in a hunter then a stray cat was the least of anyone’s worries. Not like Martin could have stopped either of them anyway.

He reached his flat and spotted the cat again, sitting outside his neighbor’s door in a growing patch of wet. Martin’s first instinct was dismay, because his neighbor seemed to be having a bad day and the last thing he wanted was to add a soaked stray on top of it. But then it occurred to him that the cat had come straight to this door.

“Is that where you live?” he asked it, a bit uselessly. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer, of course. His neighbor must still be out. “Hope that’s where you live. Well, see you later, then.”

He got his door unlocked and open. Without warning, the cat sprang to its feet and darted inside.

“No—” Martin raced after it. The building was one thing, his flat containing a small injured animal was another entirely. He was _not_ going to start his stay off with a dead animal on his carpet.

He’d left the books off the lid, and the bat had escaped during his absence. It was now on the carpet, where the cat zeroed in and lunged. Dropping his bags, Martin dove after it and caught it in midair.

“Nope! No! Not food!” The cat squirmed in his grip before going limp. Martin tucked it under one arm before retrieving the bat with his free hand, and was relieved when the cat didn’t make a second attempt while he was carrying them.

The bat was a great deal more lively, trying to crawl out of Martin’s hand before he managed to deposit it back in the box. With that done, he carried the cat down his short hallway and shut it in his bedroom. If it made a mess then he’d deal with it later, but honestly, he was cold and rain-soaked and he wanted to fix that before he did anything else.

A hot shower was exactly what he needed, in the end. In his previous flat, it was a gamble on whether or not the heating would work. It wasn’t that the place had something against him, in fact it did its best, but his landlord was never the most attentive, and the building itself could only do so much. Here, however, the water came out hot and steaming, and his sigh of relief was lost in the spray.

He dried off and dressed himself in dry clothes, then eased his bedroom door open cautiously to keep the cat from escaping. When no escape attempt came, he slipped inside and came to a halt.

The room was empty.

“Shit,” he muttered, and ran back out to the living room. The box was also empty. Dismayed, Martin ransacked his flat—a simple job when he had so little to his name—and turned up nothing. Both animals were gone.

His one consolation was the lack of blood, meaning the bat _might_ not have been killed and eaten, but every other possibility felt impossible.

Sighing, Martin went to retrieve his groceries, only to find them already sitting on his kitchen counter. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember putting them there.

* * *

The rain didn’t stop that day, but it did soften to a more manageable drizzle. Martin didn’t start work until the following morning, so he spent most of the day puttering around his flat, neatening as best he could with the cleaning supplies he had. He’d have more furniture in by the weekend, so the least he could do was prepare.

Around midafternoon there was a knock at the door. Martin glanced up from the open pantry, a cup of instant noodles in hand. Mystified, he put it back and went to answer the door.

He didn’t know what to expect, so of course the two men standing in the hallway outside were a surprise. One of them he recognized as his neighbor, looking noticeably less agitated than he had before.

The reason for this was presumably the man standing next to him, and together they made a striking pair. The former was short and slender in a soft wool cardigan, with a posture that was a little too straight to be relaxed. The latter was taller and comfortably slouched, in ripped jeans and a leather jacket that barely covered the edge of a tattoo creeping up his neck. His hair was long and dark, tucked behind his ear to show off the piercings.

(Remembering the strange man’s questions from earlier, Martin’s attention was momentarily drawn to his mouth. There wasn’t much to glean from his neighbor’s friendly, close-lipped smile.)

More pressingly, both of them were carrying covered pots, and whatever was inside them smelled absolutely delicious.

“D’you have any food allergies?” asked the man that Martin hadn’t met yet, lifting his pot higher. Martin caught a whiff of spiced curry. “We made butter chicken.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood?” the other added awkwardly.

“I, uh.” Abruptly Martin thought of the miserably spartan apartment behind him. He was not in any way prepared to entertain. “That—honestly that smells amazing. Hi—thank you.”

He stood aside to let them in, and they both toed off their shoes before they stepped onto the carpet of his flat. The one with tattoos dithered a little at the doorway before Martin took the pot from his hands and told him to come in already. Food in hand, Martin led the way into the kitchen just as the kettle reached a boil. Hastily he set the pot down to tend to it.

“I was about to make tea, if you wanted to…” His voice trailed off. He only had the one chair at the moment.

“Only if it doesn’t trouble you,” his first neighbor said cautiously.

“It’s not too much trouble, we just have to stand,” Martin explained. “I haven’t got all my furniture yet.”

“Nothing wrong with standing,” the tattooed one said, and held his hand out. “I’m Gerry, by the way. Lovely to meet you. This is Jon.” He nudged Jon lightly, who startled slightly at the signal.

“Right, yes.” Jon looked more than a little nervous. “We might’ve gotten off on the wrong foot earlier, I think. Sorry if I was brusque.”

“It’s alright,” Martin assured him, taking pity. “You seemed worried. But I take it you found him, then?”

Gerry chuckled, and Jon shot him an embarrassed glare. “Yes, I suppose, _technically_ , I did. Thank you for that.”

Martin blinked at him, confused. “For what?”

“For—you offered to help earlier,” Jon replied. “I might not have taken you up on it, but I did appreciate the gesture.”

“Oh. Well, no problem, then.”

“So, how’re you finding things so far?” Gerry asked.

“Pretty good, so far.” In spite of himself, he was starting to relax a bit. The state of his flat notwithstanding, Martin had always been a natural at making people feel comfortable, and making a decent cup of tea for a couple of strangers was the least of it. He’d been nervous about the move for a lot of reasons, and he’d already seen his fair share of hiccups, but friendly neighbors never hurt. “Bit more rain than I expected.”

Jon grimaced slightly. “I think this took all of us by surprise,” he said. “It’s completely out of season. If it’s natural at all, I’d be very surprised.”

Martin’s eyes widened. “Someone’s causing this on purpose?”

“Not at all,” Gerry assured him. “Unnatural doesn’t always mean intentional.” He looked thoughtful. “I take it you haven’t lived around a magical hotspot before?”

“Not… technically, no,” Martin said hesitantly, ducking down to stare into his cup. “I used to, when I was a kid, but we moved before I could really remember it.” Briefly he wondered if he ought to bring up his own _situation_ , before deciding against it. After what Jane had done with that information, he wasn’t eager to share it around with strangers. “I did date a witch, but that’s… yeah.”

“Is that so.” Gerry let his voice lilt with amusement, undeterred by Jon’s warning elbow in his side. “Must’ve been exciting.”

“Gerry,” Jon muttered.

“Well, after we broke up she filled my flat with worms,” said Martin. “So I guess if losing your entire deposit is exciting, then… yeah.”

Jon winced. “That seems like an enormously petty waste of power.”

“Oh well,” Gerry sighed, leaning one arm on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Guess they can’t all be gems.”

“ _Gerry_.”

“Awkward question,” Gerry went on, a bit more cautiously but not by much. “That wouldn’t be the reason you moved here, would it?”

“It’s—you don’t have to worry about that,” Martin assured him. “She was pretty much done after the worms thing. It’s not like she’ll try it again here, or anything.”

“She most certainly will not,” Jon said archly. “I hope you find your stay here more pleasant.”

“Me too,” Martin agreed, eager to change the subject. “My friend got me a job at his brother’s shop downtown. Danny Stoker, dunno if you know him.”

Gerry perked up. “Oh yeah, he runs that place that sells outdoor gear, right? You know Tim?”

“Yeah, we used to be coworkers. What do you two do?” Martin hesitated. “If you don’t mind me asking?

“Not at all,” said Gerry. “I bar-tend. Jon’s got an Etsy shop.”

Jon sighed heavily. “I work at the local historical society.”

“ _And_ he’s got an Etsy shop.”

“It’s really Georgie’s Etsy shop more than it is mine.”

Gerry shrugged. “Still, everybody needs a side-hustle.”

Martin found himself laughing softly at the exasperation on Jon’s face. It didn’t hurt that Jon had a really nice face, enormously expressive for someone who carried himself so politely. It paired well with Gerry’s lopsided grins.

By the time the impromptu visit was over, Martin was genuinely sorry to see them both go. Gerry actually blew him a kiss at the door, which made Martin nervous for all of a half-second before he saw the fond amusement on Jon’s face.

“So, er, you have a lovely home,” Jon told him, once Martin’s flushed stammering had subsided. It should have sounded teasing or forced, but some how it didn’t, even though Martin’s new flat was too barren to be lovely. “Hope you like the food. Don’t worry about returning everything quickly, take your time.”

“Thanks, again,” Martin answered. “Really, you’ve been so welcoming—”

“I’m just glad to make up for earlier, then,” said Jon.

“Hope to see you around,” Gerry added, leaning on Jon’s shoulder again. “Come by the pub sometime, your first drink’s on me.”

By the time Martin had shut the door behind them, his cheeks were pleasantly warm. That had gone well, right? That sort of thing was how friendships started. Martin didn’t have as much practice as he would have liked; he was quick to get along with people, but slow to get close to them. But talking with Gerry and Jon had gone past pleasant and into fun. Talking with Tim felt like that, and Sasha too sometimes. Even talking with Jane had, at the beginning before things went sour.

Just his luck that the neighbors had to be cordial _and_ handsome. Hopefully they could hang out again soon without Martin making a fool of himself. Maybe he’d bring them something in return, when he returned the pots.

It would probably happen soon. The curry was _delicious_.

* * *

Danny Stoker was a lot like Tim Stoker, but _more_ , somehow. Martin wasn’t as close to him as he was his brother, but he suspected he soon would be, if only because Danny probably wouldn’t give him a choice in the matter.

His first shift consisted of an enthusiastic tour around the shop, a rundown of Martin’s set tasks, a quick lesson working the register, and a fifteen-minute conversational detour into the best places for hiking in the area, before Danny finally set him loose. In spite of the register lesson, Martin’s jobs were mostly on the back-end, which was what he preferred. It wasn’t that he minded handling customers, but he’d never worked in a place that sold this kind of gear before. If someone came up to him with a question on fishing rods or something, he’d be totally lost.

But as he stood in the hopelessly cluttered backroom and thought of the scattered look of the shop’s front end, he felt certainty settle within him. If there was one thing he _could_ do without much prompting, it was put things in order.

Organizing the back room took a couple of hours, but by the time he was done, he’d worked out a decent system that he could probably explain to Danny without much trouble. The room itself was satisfied with his changes, and practically pushed him back out into the shop proper to repeat the process there.

It helped that the shop already had a few ideas on where everything within it should go, not that it was Danny’s fault that he couldn’t follow its preferences. That was what Martin was here for.

Martin was halfway through shifting a display of water bottles when the door opened and the building shifted.

Not physically. But Martin felt the change in the air and the gentle nudge of warning in the back of his mind. The building liked him—buildings usually did—and now it was pushing him to make himself small.

Martin ducked down, then peered over the shelves to see two customers entering the store.

He recognized one of them; it was the old man who’d shoved into his building the previous morning. The woman with him was young enough to be his daughter, but no less vaguely menacing.

Martin shot a quick glance at Danny. Tim’s brother was poised by the counter, his entire body a line of tension.

“Can I help you?” Martin had never heard Danny sound that unfriendly before. He forced himself back to work, keeping one eye on them while he pretended to focus on the task at hand.

“Heard we could find maps in here,” the woman said.

“Town maps, or trail maps of the surrounding woodlands?” Danny asked coolly.

“Either one. Ah.” At the counter displays, the woman apparently found what she was looking for. She plucked one off the stand and turned back toward the door. “That’s all, thanks.”

“Those aren’t free,” Danny informed her. “This is a shop, not a ranger station.”

The woman actually growled at this, but she stalked to the register and took out her wallet.

Martin let out a quiet sigh of relief. At least they’d be gone soon. Maybe he’d take a different route home, just to be safe.

“You again.”

It took all of his self control not to jump. The old man was there, watching him work with narrowed eyes. “H-hello,” he said warily. “Can I help you with something?”

“What’re you doing here?” the old man asked.

“I… work here?” Martin edged away. “Did you need help finding something?”

The old man’s eyebrows rose. “And if I do? You said you just moved here the other day.”

Truth be told, the building would direct him to anything he was trying to find, but there was no reason to let this man know that. “It’s my job to organize everything,” he said. “I’ve been at this for a few hours, so I could probably… um.”

He didn’t like the hungry gleam in the man’s eye. Like a cat that just spotted a mouse.

Ridiculous, he told himself. He had nothing to fear from this man, even if he was a hunter. Hunters went after proper monsters, vampires and were-beasts and such. Dangerous for monsters who only wanted to mind there own business, but Martin was in the clear. Hunters didn’t come after the likes of him.

“Is there a problem?” And all of a sudden Danny was there, straight-backed and frowning and outwardly unafraid.

The old man was about to reply when the woman called to him from the front. “Trevor,” she said, and jerked her head at the door. With a quiet scoff, the old man followed her. The two of them left without another word.

The building relaxed again.

“You alright?” Danny asked.

Martin nodded. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.”

“Good.” Danny sighed with relief. “Timmy’ll have my head if I don’t take good care of you.” His face turned serious again. “D’you need help getting home after? Hunters are no joke, especially hunters like them.”

So they were hunters after all. Martin shuddered. “I should be fine. I don’t have that far to go.”

And, he thought in the back of his mind, it was still raining enough to cover his tracks.

Just in case.

* * *

Martin was halfway home when he realized that he had made a terrible mistake, because he was being followed.

It was early evening and Martin was outside, out in the open with no roof or walls that he could charm into helping him. So it was pure instinct that made him look over his shoulder, just in time to catch a flash of movement some distance behind him.

The fear that filled him was, for a split second, overwhelming. He froze in place like a rabbit, until the panic finally ebbed and he was left with a clear head and a pounding heart. He started walking again, only for a second shadow to catch his eye from an alley alongside him. It was only when he changed directions to avoid it that he realized he was being herded.

That wouldn’t do at all.

Martin threw caution to the wind, because what use was caution when someone was already hunting him? Swiftly turning off his current path, he went to the first door he saw and opened it. It was unmarked and locked, though that had never been an issue for him. The door opened at a touch, and it took him into the back of an antique shop that was currently closed for business.

Everywhere Martin walked, dust and dirt vanished, worn surfaces were left freshly polished, and clutter was cleared and neatened. The air in the building warmed in his presence, welcoming his intrusion as long as he left it better than he’d found it.

And then he was out the front and on the move again.

Martin made his way through town in this fashion, passing from one sheltering building to the next, quick as a shadow. It wouldn’t be accurate to say that he left no trace, because truth be told he left _fewer_ traces. Instead of tracking dirt, he got rid of it. Instead of scuffing floors, his steps polished them. Every building, every body of roof and walls and everything in between, opened at his touch and shut firmly behind him. Not all of them were empty when he passed, but no occupant noticed his presence. They never did, as long as Martin didn’t want them to.

And then he passed through another dark and shuttered shop, and his hand was on the exit door when the building shuddered with a warning. Martin glanced through the window, and met the cold eyes of the woman hunting him.

He was running now. He found a different door unguarded and raced out, zigzagging through town as he tried to remember where he was, which way was home. The streets were mostly empty; it made Martin think of the conversation he’d had while shopping. He’d been warned to stay home, to be cautious when there were hunters around, and he hadn’t listened, all because he didn’t have fangs or claws or magic that did anything beyond cleaning things and opening doors and passing unnoticed.

Home was still so close, yet still so far away, when he was finally seized from behind. A cold hand clamped over his mouth before he could scream, and he was dragged into an alley and a narrow doorway that barely hid him from the street beyond.

Instead of a knife to his throat, he felt a soft brush of breath as someone spoke.

“Sorry about that,” Gerry murmured. “They’d circled around, and you were about to run right into them.” He went silent and tense at the sound of footsteps.

Martin didn’t waste time. He opened the door they were currently pressed against, dragged Gerry inside, and shut it behind them.

“Pretty sure this is someone’s house,” Gerry remarked in a whisper.

“It’s empty right now,” Martin replied.

“Oh. Good.” Gerry paused. “Wasn’t that door locked, too?”

“Yeah, well. Locked doors don’t mean much to me.” There was a gouge in the wall, probably from the door swinging open and hitting it. A brush of Martin’s hand wiped it away.

“Oh.” Gerry sounded faintly surprised, but not unpleasantly so. “Huh. You never said you were a brownie.”

“Don’t like to bring it up. It comes with expectations, you know?”

Gerry let out a wry laugh. “Yeah, I think I do.” He edged toward the window. “Explains why they’re after you, anyway.”

“Wh—no it doesn’t!” Martin hissed. “What kind of hunter goes after house fae?”

“You get all sorts with hunters,” Gerry said with a shrug. “You got your career types in it for a paycheck, your noble types fighting for a just cause, and then you get the ones like Trevor and Julia out there, who just love the chase no matter who or what gets ripped apart at the end.”

Martin’s stomach turned. “Oh. Um. I-I take it you’re…?”

Gerry flashed a grin at him, lips parting over his teeth for the first time. Sharp canines flashed in the dark. “I really have to thank you,” he said. “This is the second time you’ve gotten me out of a jam. Not sure homemade curry will cut it as a thank you this time.”

Abruptly, Martin’s mind went blank. “You—what?”

“Hope I didn’t dent your window. Jon always says I’ve got a thick skull, even when I’m tiny like that.” Before Martin could think to answer, he looked out the window again and perked up. “Oh! Speaking of which.”

He opened the door and waved a hand out of it. Moments later Jon appeared, disheveled and wild-eyed with worry. He clutched at Gerry’s arms, gripping tight as if to make sure he was solid.

“Are you alright?” he asked. They’re prowling just beyond the alley—I think they know you’re here.”

“Shit. Well, that’s a problem. I’m alright, though, Martin got us this nice hiding spot.”

Jon leaned to the side to look past him, and met Martin’s wide eyes with his own. “Oh no. You too?”

“They came into the shop while I was working,” Martin explained, still a bit dazed. “I-I thought it’d be fine, I’m just a—I’m not even a full brownie, just on my dad’s side, but… Anyway, they’ve been following me home.”

A jumbled twist of emotions passed over Jon’s face before it settled into something steady and determined. “Right,” he said quietly, looking back out to the street beyond. “You’re not far from the building. I can draw them off, give you time to make it back.”

“You’re sure?” Gerry asked softly.

Jon’s face was set. “Yes.”

With a sigh, Gerry learned down to kiss the side of his forehead. “Be careful, alright?”

“Obviously.” Jon looked to Martin again. “Get ready to run.”

“Wait, Jon—” Martin hurried back to the doorway just in time to see Jon take off.

And then he blinked, and Jon was gone, and a skinny gray cat was racing out of the alley, around the corner and out of sight.

For a moment, Martin could only stare after him in shock. “I thought he _ate_ you.”

Gerry laughed. “Not his style,” he said. “Ready?”

They took off together, racing through the rain for home.

* * *

“You—really?” Martin stared at him, wide-eyed. “A witch? I never would’ve guessed.”

“If the only witches you’re familiar with are the sort who destroy someone’s home over a breakup, then I certainly hope I wouldn’t give that impression,” Jon said loftily.

“Not true,” Gerry said with a grin. “You can be downright mean when the mood strikes. Maybe not worm-infestation mean, but you’ve come pretty close.” He leaned his chin on the palm of his hand. “That said, I _cannot_ believe you didn’t figure me out on sight. My style’s not exactly subtle.”

“I’m just trying not to panic over the fact that I invited a vampire into my flat,” Martin sighed.

“Dhampir, technically. On my mother’s side. I don’t get _all_ the perks, but at least I can still eat garlic.”

The home that Jon and Gerry shared was one of the liveliest Martin had ever seen, for all that Jon was relatively sedate and Gerry was content to match his pace. The threshold had been powerful when Martin passed it, and he couldn’t remember the last time any place had left him feeling scrutinized so suspiciously.

It made sense, though. This was a happy home, and the happiest homes were always the most determined to protect what lived in them.

“Are you feeling alright?” Jon asked him, genuinely concerned. “You keep fidgeting—I could turn the heat up, if you need.”

“No, it’s fine, just…” Martin hesitated, at a loss for how to put all that into words. “You have a lovely home. And I’m not just saying that to be polite.”

“Neither was I!” Jon protested.

“It’s alright,” Martin assured him with a smile. “I’m getting more furniture in this weekend. Should be presentable after that.”

“Let us know if you need help moving them in,” Gerry said readily. “We could make a day of it, subject you to more of Jon’s cooking.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” said Martin. “And you don’t have to. I’m sure you have—I mean you might be busy…”

“I’m sure we can set aside the time,” Jon assured him. “It’s really no hardship. You’re wonderful company.”

“Oh.” Martin’s face warmed. “Um, thanks, I-I’ll let you know.”

Jon’s smiles weren’t quite as abundant as Gerry’s, but something about them softened his whole face. It was hard to look away, and Martin couldn’t even feel sheepish about admiring it when Gerry was just as nice to look at.

 _Oh dear,_ he thought, somewhere in the back of his mind. If only he weren’t so predictable. But it was hard not to feel things, when someone saved your life and then smiled at you that way.

It left him feeling bright and warm, so much that he barely noticed the sunlight streaming through the drying windows.


End file.
